Is There Love In This Obsession?
by xBits
Summary: He stares at their bloody hands, contemplating. It would be so easy to join them together – a blood oath – the promise of eternal loyalty between the participants, the eternal love. And Misaki would be his and his alone. Closer, so close – too close. "We're already so far gone." PWP, pretty much, Post-series


Hot tears burn against his skin as Misaki hides his face in the crook of his neck. Salty water falls on the old scar and – along with the shuddering, barely coherent whispers of '_Mikoto-san_', makes it itch like never before.

He 'tsks' and chews on his lip until a faint taste of blood fills his mouth. He then grins at the discovery as he briefly wonders what it would be like to draw the hot, red liquid from Misaki's lips – to feast on it, to savor it, to swallow it and make it enter his own body. He dismisses the intriguing thought when he feels Misaki go still against his body.

Saruhiko lazily pushes the boy off of him and spins them around so Misaki's back crashes painfully into the cold cement of the wall behind him. He doesn't make a sound. Saruhiko traps him between his arms, pushing his right leg forward so that it comes between the brunette's, brushing almost innocently (_what a joke) _against his crotch. Misaki's face is dry, for now, but Saruhiko has had eyes for this person only for what feels like an eternity now, and he can easily detect more of the unwelcome drops lurking in the edges of hazel eyes.

"Done yet?" Saruhiko snickers.

Misaki doesn't react to the disrespectful sound. He stares at nowhere in particular for the longest time, before slowly, almost hesitatingly (though Saruhiko knows that is not the case) bringing his head up to meet his former best friend's eyes. The look in his eyes has an empty feel to it as Saruhiko watches those thin, perfect lips move, ever so slightly. Through gritted teeth, Misaki hisses:

"Make it go away."

Maniacal laughter burst out from Saruhiko's lungs without a warning, as it had been resting there for ages with no good reason to be let out, like an illness that slowly, meticulously gnaws at your body from the inside, making sure you never know when it is going to turn it into ash. But this - this broken-down Misaki, needy and grieving, asking for such a preposterous thing – who would have thought, who would _ever_ have thought?

The laughter stops as abruptly as it began and all the maniacal in Saruhiko transfers itself into his eyes, glinting madly as he lifts his hands from the wall and brings one to caress Misaki's jaw line, tracing an excruciatingly cold finger down his neck which soon comes to rest upon his collarbone. The sign that has separated them for so long is nowhere to be seen, not a trace of it left, and Saruhiko takes a moment to revel in the pale beauty of Misaki's unmarked skin. His answer is, of course –

"No," he grins wickedly as his thumb digs deeper into the soft flesh under Misaki's clavicle.

"No, no, no, my sweet Misaki. You don't get to do that," he singsongs in a taunting voice.

He pushes his knee forcefully further into the skater boy's crotch, grinding against the rough fabric of his pants, drawing out a quiet moan from his lips. The sound makes Saruhiko's body tremble in excitement and his view become clouded with a familiar-enough emotion. He wills it away.

"D-don't tease me," Misaki hisses, a little bit of the old fire dancing in hazel orbs.

Chuckling darkly, eyes gleaming dangerously, crazily, Saruhiko smirks: "Tease you?" he laughs. "Oh, you think I'm actually going to do it, don't you? _Fuck you_," he draws out in a sensual, yet still so very dirty tone, his smirk widening. Misaki glares at him challengingly, but does not utter a word, perhaps just to spite him.

"Let me tell you something, Mi-sa-ki," he begins, taking a moment to appreciate the boy's flushed face, red with – anger, embarrassment? Probably both, he concludes. "You dare to ask something like this of me, when you obviously know how I feel about you – "

"You don't feel anything for me, you dumb monkey," Misaki warns angrily.

"SHUT UP!" Saruhiko shouts, lips forming an angry line, teeth gritted, any trace of the former smile wiped away from his face in no more than a second by this infuriating boy before him. The weakness makes him want to laugh at its absurdity and cry because of its unavoidability and eternal presence at the same time.

"You have no idea, Misaki. No idea how I long for those lips of yours saying my name, no idea how much I hated when you smiled at that bastard you called your king, no idea – "

"Don't you insult Mikoto-san, you traitorous bastard!" Misaki shouts at the top of his lungs, bringing his hands up to Saruhiko's chest, pushing him away.

Sooner than he knows what he's doing, his hands are around Misaki's neck, squeezing none too gently at it. He realizes a moment later, that in a split second, an act of madness, he might have been actually trying to throttle him. Nevertheless, he weakens his grip only enough to let the boy breathe. His fingers are shaking, occasionally pressing into the sensitive flesh uncomfortably, making Misaki cough and splutter.

"Mikoto-san, Mikoto-san," he repeats like a mantra. "Is it always going to be fucking Mikoto-san with you?!" he screams, getting into Misaki's face. "And you – you want me to make you _forget_? How the fuck are you planning to forget when the first thing that's going to come out of your mouth when I hit that little sweet spot of yours is going to be his name?" he barely manages to get the words out – they hurt, hurt so fucking much. And he might have just as well admitted it now – he's so fucking scared of that happening. He breathes heavily, hot air tickling Misaki's ears teasingly, even if he is not likely to pay attention to it, given the current situation. Saruhiko's grip on the brunette's throat fades to nothing but a caress, fingers limp and hands numb, unmoving.

"Then," Misaki says softly, searching for Saruhiko's eyes to meet his own. It's not a long wait. After all, he never could look away. "Then, make it be your name. Saru."

He doesn't say it wouldn't have been Mikoto's name to begin with, he doesn't tell petty lies like 'only you', he doesn't coax him into it, doesn't beg, doesn't cajole, doesn't ask.

He offers him a simple solution, and, in a subtle way, a challenge. It's a chance to get the bastard he hates so much out of Misaki's head, if only for a moment; it's a chance, obviously, to ravish him, to have him, to possess him. But most importantly – it's a chance to finally claim him as his and his alone. It's more than enough for Saruhiko.

He leans in slowly, staring at Misaki's lips in bewilderment, as if he has trouble believing that, for once, they are his – only his, to claim. Misaki tilts his head to the side and brings his hands to the both sides of Saruhiko's face, caressing his cheeks, fingers tangling in dark locks, guiding him towards his goal, not only willingly, but with a hint of want, need, desperation, even.

It feels surprisingly soft, unbelievably intimate when they lips finally touch for the first time. It's tentative and unsure and soft, their lips pressing awkwardly against each other, neither making a move to separate, nor to deepen the kiss. To Saruhiko, it feels absolutely wonderful. Then Misaki's tongue darts out, just for a second, to lick his lips, and all of the intimacy be damned, his self-control, if he ever had any to begin with, disperses in a flash.

He pushes his tongue urgently into Misaki's mouth, feeling a shudder of excitement go down his spine as his tongue touches the brunette's. The boy jolts and lets out a surprised groan, but quickly catches on, and sets out to explore his partner's mouth, paying meticulous attention to detail.

It's excruciatingly slow and then incredibly fast, as Saruhiko's tongue makes somersaults and pirouettes all at once, matched with the frantic beating of both of their hearts. He places his hand on Misaki's chest, listening to the fascinating organ pump blood around his body, quick, quicker, making his skin hot to touch. It makes their knees tremble and their strength give out, as Misaki's back slides down the cold wall and he falls to the ground below and Saruhiko follows shortly, falling down on his knees, not daring to break the kiss. He's scared, so scared to even inch away and so he keeps their mouth securely locked together in this impossibly long kiss. There is a burning feeling in his chest – a scorching fire that threatens to burn his insides to a crisp if he should, for any reason, pull back. Oxygen be damned.

But, apparently, Misaki figures the lack of air could be a dangerous disadvantage. He pulls away and breathes in harshly, then smirks and teases:

"We do have to breathe, stupid monkey," he says, then contradicts his own words as he pulls Saruhiko in for another demanding, painful, burning, bitter and yet so very wonderful kiss.

Saruhiko pushes Misaki down to the ground, among damp garbage and shards of a broken cola bottle the brunette dumped unceremoniously to the ground, in surprise probably, the moment he saw him there. The alley is dimly lit and abandoned; no sunlight, no wind, no sound makes it through the thick walls of the buildings that surround them. It's fitting, somehow, he thinks in slight amusement.

He forces his lips away from Misaki's mouth and makes his way down his neck and to the soft flesh beneath the collarbone. Misaki has just enough time to realize his intention and make a weak sound of protest before greedy teeth dig into white flesh, biting mercilessly, licking, sucking, marking him.

"B-bastard," Misaki breathes, but with no fervor in his voice. Instead there is resignation. Saruhiko doesn't know whether he likes this or not.

He unsheathes his saber and cuts Misaki's shirt apart slowly, but eagerly, not bothering to worry about the cold blade drawing a little blood from the boy's body along the way. He is surprised when Misaki doesn't even make a sound of complaint. It's unnerving, somehow. He kisses his way down the boy's chest, licking the small amount of blood away, nipping at the sensitive flesh, making Misaki's back arch in both pain and excitement. He loves it, absolutely adores this sense of control he has over the boy at this very moment. He lifts his head up from the brunette's chest and reaches out to caress his face, brushing his beanie softly from his head, letting it fall to the ground where it then continues to lay, discarded.

"Misaki, my dear Misaki," he murmurs, brushing the boys hair away from his eyes, staring at his confused face, questioning eyes, taking every little thing in, never to be forgotten. The brunette blushes and grumbles:

"What are you staring at now? Hurry up!"

And so Saruhiko does. He unbuttons Misaki's pants in one swift motion, pushing them down to his knees and reaches inside of his boxers, a faint smirk on his face and eyes stubbornly locked with Misaki's as he wraps a cold hand around his erection. Misaki trembles and lets out a small moan and Saruhiko wastes no time to bring his mouth onto the boy's eager member. He kisses it softly, barely noticeably, licks it with even lesser pressure, lets his teeth graze the brunette's balls as he smirks against the hot skin all along.

"A-a-ah! Saru, you bastard!" Misaki manages, breathing raggedly. "Fucking do something!"

He smirks even wider and suddenly, without even the slightest warning, takes Misaki's full length into the hotness of his mouth, twisting his tongue in all the unimaginable, fucking perfect ways, teeth grazing the throbbing cock as he slides his lips up and down, slowly for a moment, frantically for another one. He likes to contradict himself, he guesses. Misaki is a moaning, spluttering mess beneath him and his quiet, barely intelligible noises of 'S-s-Sa-ru!' make Saruhiko go positively mad and his speed increase to an inhuman level.

If it wasn't for his obsession with the boy squirming underneath him, he might have never even heard a quiet hiss of pain among all those wonderful sounds _he_ made Misaki make. But he does, and, however the small the noise, it makes him stop his administrations to check for the damage.

"D-damn! Don't you dare stop, damn monkey," Misaki hisses out.

"Let me see," Saruhiko demands, catching a sight of blood on the boy's left hand. It's obviously not a big wound, and he could easily continue where he left off without having to worry about Misaki fainting or dying (he suppresses a shudder at the thought) from the loss of blood. Still, he can't. It's a downright paradox – how he can't let this little wound go, this wound - not inflicted by him on the pale skin of Misaki's hand, when he can cut him and bite him and hurt him with no remorse whatsoever, just as long as he knows he is the one who the scars come from, he is the one who marked him.

He extends his right arm to take a hold of Misaki's hand.

"It was a shard of that broken bottle. It's nothing serious," Misaki all but whines, obviously eager to carry on.

But Saruhiko barely registers his words. In his right hand, he holds Misaki's hand and stares at the blood oozing from the cut. The fingers of his left hand close around another shard lying on the ground. His eyes dance madly in their sockets. He lets go of Misaki's hand and moves the shard from his left hand to his right one. He stares at it for a couple of moments, then, as in a trance, closes his hand into a fist around it. It pierces the flash and draws blood in a second and Saruhiko slowly loosens his hold on it until it falls silently to the ground, bloodied.

He takes a look at Misaki's hand, then at his own hand. He wonders what it would be like to join them. Mixing of blood – a blood oath – an ancient ritual symbolizing eternal loyalty between the participants, eternal love. What would it be like? He inches closer to the brunette, reaching out for him with his bloodied hand.

Misaki stares at him, unmoving. Lips parted and eyes widening with each inch Saruhiko passes, he is numb – with fear, with resignation, with acceptance – Saruhiko can't tell. He brings the fingertips of their hands together, his own positioned above Misaki's. He watches in morbid fascination as the thick red substance begins to form the first drop. Just a few seconds longer and the drop would fall, mingling their blood together. He makes a move to join their hands before that, to make sure, to be certain. His hand stops midway.

In those few decisive seconds, so many thoughts, coherent, semi-coherent and completely incoherent run through his mind, mingling together so that he doesn't know where one began and the other ended. Whatever the thoughts they were – they might have been – 'He doesn't want this. He doesn't even love you,' mingling with those of 'Who cares?! He's yours! Make him yours!', melting into 'It's dangerous. Illnesses. Viruses. Infections. Coagulation,' and the opposing ones – always the ones of 'He's _yours, _he's yours to take' – but whatever the thought they were, in the end, they make him jerk his hand away.

He takes a hold of Misaki's hand with his other hand and brings it to his lips, licking the blood away, then tears up his shirt and wraps a piece of cloth around Misaki's hand, tying it securely. He then proceeds to do that with his own hand as well. They stay silent for the longest time, staring at each other, arrays of emotions dancing on their faces, trying to stay concealed, but becoming so blatantly obvious, in the end.

"Sorry," Saruhiko finally manages. It's quiet and soft. It's honest. It's such a contradiction to his character, and it's quite a blow to his pride as well, but he finds that he doesn't care. He would give up all of the pride in the world for Misaki; he would give up the entire world itself, life itself for Misaki.

When Misaki speaks again, it just as quiet and just as soft, but it is even more contradictory to his very being than Saruhiko's words.

"I love you too, Saru," he whispers, and for once, his eyes don't look empty in the slightest.

And for once, Saruhiko doesn't care if it is a lie or if it is true because, even if it should happen to be a lie – the way he said it – 'I love you _too_,' at the very least gives something away – at the very least, Misaki gets it, he understands that, no matter how sick or twisted it might be, it's not just an obsession – his love for Misaki was always more, so much more. And if Misaki can understand that, Saruhiko thinks it might just be enough for him.

He kisses Misaki again, with such love and gentleness he didn't even know he possessed. Misaki's face is wet from fresh tears and Saruhiko revels in knowledge that those tears are for him and him alone. They have a beautiful taste to them as he kisses them away from Misaki's cheeks.

He lowers himself to kiss his way down the boy's chest once again, carefully planning every lick, pinch and nip along the way. He takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks at it vigorously, simultaneously stroking Misaki's cock, teasingly, languidly – like he has all the time in the world.

Unexpectedly, he suddenly feels a hot, hard grip on his own erection and he has just about enough time to wonder when could have Misaki even unbuttoned his trousers before the world explodes into a mist of white as feels the boy's hands stroking urgently up and down his member.

"D-damn it, Misaki," he manages to get out.

The boy just smirks at him before pulling him in for a rough kiss. Before Saruhiko can regain any of his composure, Misaki twists his tongue in his mouth expertly, snaking a hand underneath his ripped shirt to pinch a nipple and drawing his thumb lazily over the slit on the head of Saruhiko's positively throbbing member.

Saruhiko breaks off the kiss and groans at the wave of pleasure that shakes his body, then grins widely at Misaki and begins to stroke his cock just as urgently as the brunette has been so kind to demonstrate. They lock their eyes in challenge – who can hold out longer?

"Ngggh, a-ah, n-no more. Too c-close," Misaki whimpers just moments later, surrendering. Saruhiko grins in victory and brings his hand to Misaki's mouth, pointing three fingers at him, and cheekily orders:

"Suck."

Misaki doesn't miss a chance to shoot him a glare, but complies nonetheless. Saruhiko can't help but moan as the skilled tongue dances around his fingers, wetting them. Misaki looks smug as he bites down at his fingers lightly, drawing yet another involuntary moan from the taller man's lips.

Saruhiko pulls out his fingers from the hot heaven of Misaki's mouth and draws them sensually all the way down to the boy's entrance. He bends down and kisses the puckered hole, sliding his tongue in it. Misaki shakes violently and makes a primal sound in his throat which Saruhiko savors every second of. He pushes a finger inside, probing. Two fingers, three fingers. He stretches Misaki out carefully, methodically.

"Do it already," Misaki demands, trembling from the uncomfortable feeling.

"So impatient," Saruhiko teases lightly. He positions himself above the brunette's entrance, then touches it experimentally with the tip of his erection.

"S-Saru, if you don't hurry up I swear to god I'm going to – AH!"

He enters the eager boy before he has a chance to finish the started threat. He moves slowly, so fucking slowly, just to see an exasperated look on Misaki's face. They are so very interesting – each and every expression this person makes.

Misaki is so very hot, and so very tight inside, and Saruhiko thinks he might come just from looking at his partner's flushed face. So he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to focus.

"G-god! F-f-ah -aster," Misaki breathes.

"Doesn't it hurt?"

"I don't –ah! G-god! Fucking c-care!"

He increases his pace and soon enough hits the boy's prostate. Misaki lets out an inhuman growl as he is reduced to a begging mess underneath him.

"S-Saru, nggh, ah! P-please, m-more."

Saruhiko lets go of every bit of the control he might have had left, slamming violently into Misaki, hitting the sweet spot again and again and – oh god! again, drawing out what feels like all the saints' and gods' names in existence from his mouth – and a name – _his_ name. The thought alone is enough to send him over the edge.

The world disappears as waves of pure, carnal pleasure shake his body and, as much as he wants to look at Misaki's face, to see the expression in those hazel eyes, clouded with desire, his climax gets the better of him and he closes his eyes, reveling in the sheer intensity, ecstasy of the feeling.

Not moments later, he can feel the brunette's body start to shake against his own, ass tightening around his cock, sending him into overdrive.

"Argh! If you don't stop that now Misaki, we might just have another little problem to deal with in a very – ahh – v-very short time," he manages.

Misaki somehow manages to get a laugh in between his moans: "Ah-haha, that's not gonna b-be a problem, S-Saru."

His release comes violently, shaking his small frame all the way through, exhausting it, but not defeating it fully, since Saruhiko can still see his semi-erect member twitching with interest as he pulls out of the boy. He soon realizes he is in the same condition.

"I'll never get enough of you," he breathes into Misaki's neck, kissing it softly.

"Only you, Saru," the boy sighs contently, bringing a hand up to caress the other man's cheek. He takes a hold of Saruhiko's chin and locks eyes with him, whispering surely, seriously: "It's only ever been you."

Saruhiko stares at him, wanting badly to believe those words, but not daring to.

"Misaki," he speaks frantically, eyes glinting madly, body shaking in fear far worse than any other kind of fear he can imagine. "Misaki, if this is a lie and you let me believe it, you're going to ruin me," he confides quietly, needing Misaki to understand, no matter how much of this unbearable weakness he has to show him.

But Misaki glares at him, the look in his eyes hard and raw, brings his head down and growls into his ear: "Only you, Saruhiko. Do you understand?"

And Saruhiko can only nod.

They breathe heavily and look nowhere but at each other's faces for the longest time. Suddenly, Saruhiko realizes their hands – the fingers of their wounded hands, are intertwined. He tries to jerk his hand back in shock when he realizes there is no cloth on either of them to separate the wounds – they're touching, skin to skin – blood to blood. Misaki only tightens his grip.

"How – "

"I removed them," Misaki shrugs nonchalantly. "You were too busy to notice," he adds, grinning cheekily.

"But why?" Saruhiko whispers.

"Because," Misaki smiles gently, "Because we're already so far gone."

"Far gone?"

"Mhmm. Too far gone, too fucking in love, too fucking obsessed to care."

Saruhiko looks at him in bewilderment. Surely Misaki isn't referring to himself too?

"Both of us, Saru. Both of us," Misaki reassures as he squeezes his hand reassuringly, grip tightening to the point of pain. Their fingernails dig deeply into the skin covering each other's knuckles as their mouth meet in yet another scorching kiss.

_There is you and there is me. And the world may turn without us._

* * *

A/N - I'm gonna hide in a hole now.

Anyways, this is my first smut and M-rated anything in general ever. I'm pretty much convinced it blows (pun intended :)) but, oh well... So yeah...do leave a review, please.


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